Welcome to Characteria!
by italkofdreams
Summary: One dark night, Fantine stumbles upon a strange world where stock characters from musicals live. On her adventure, she meets Dr Jekyll, Éponine, the Artful Dodger, and many more strange and wonderful characters. Rated T for some dodgier characters. Enjoy!
1. Tarts With Hearts

**Author's Note: Hello! I had this idea for a story about stock characters from various musicals meeting each other...aaaand this is what happened. **

**The start is slow, but the next few chapters will get the ball rolling and we'll be meeting more characters and maybe a hint of plot. It was meant to be a lot more lighthearted and humorous than this chapter turned out. Nancy will that care of that in future chapters, I'm sure. ;)**

**Speaking of which - DISCLAIMER: Fantine belongs to Victor Hugo, Nancy belongs to Charles Dickens, Lucy belongs to the librettist of _Jekyll & Hyde: The Musical_, and Aldonza belongs to Miguel de Cervantes. The unnamed molls belong to themselves. Also, various lines from the musical Les Misérables are incorporated into the story. No copyright infringement intended.**

**Rated T for streetwalkers with low necklines. **

**It all starts with Fantine getting lost, walking in the alleyways...**

Fantine saw that the light was coming from an electrical sign on the wall of a dodgy-looking building. The light bulbs were flickering and fading, and they seemed to form letters, words. She sighed. Damn illiteracy! That was what had gotten her sacked in the first place.

Beneath the flickering sign, a group of women stood, chatting. Many of them were scantily clad, and they all were shivering under shabby-looking shawls. Fantine shyly walked up to the group, trying to hear what they were talking about. She heard a chuckle, and looked around to see a woman of about twenty-five standing in the dim light of the sign. Her hair was a messy mane of brown, her boots and stockings were awfully muddy, and her red dress was cut so low that Fantine turned her eyes away at the indecency. The woman was speaking in a thick cockney accent to another young woman who stood in the shadows. Fantine couldn't see her face, but a soft voice laughed and said something back.

Suddenly, the woman in red turned around and caught sight of Fantine.

"And 'oo 'ave we 'ere?" she called to Fantine. Her eyes sparkled and she smiled, displaying dimples and a set of teeth that had seen better days.

"I – I am Fantine, Miss – Miss – "

"Nancy."

"Miss Nancy."

"Oi won't 'ave none o' this 'Miss Nancy'-ing. Not even me callers call me that, and they're the ones wot oughta be showin' the most respect fo' wot oi give 'em, eh, Lucy?" This last remark, which Fantine wasn't quite sure she had comprehended, was directed at the other young woman, who stepped out into the light with another soft laugh.

Lucy's gown, a scandalously short thing with a tight black bodice, was cleaner than Nancy's, but Fantine had to avert her eyes at the horrendous amount of skin her neckline betrayed. Her hair was a dark chestnut brown and was threatening to fall out of its messy bun on the top of her head. Her eyes had a bit of a faraway look, and perhaps had the light from the sign been a little bit brighter Fantine would have noticed the dark circles underneath them. However, whether from lack of observational skills or from poor lighting, the dark circles went unnoticed, as did the suspicious-looking bruises that dotted both women's bodies.

"So, Fantine, when did you get to this fine place?" asked Nancy in her loud, jovial voice.

"I – I don't quite know how I got here," she admitted. "I was sacked from the factory this afternoon and I had nowhere to go, so I went walking in the streets in search of a way to make a few francs – "

Nancy and Lucy shared a knowing look.

"- and then I realized that I didn't recognize the alleyways, and it all became a blur...I mean, I was sort of lost in thought...and then all of a sudden, it became very windy, and it turned so cold that I ducked under a doorway to take shelter. When I awoke it was dark, and I had no idea where I was. I kept walking until I saw the light from that sign. I followed it, and here I am."

"So, why did they sack you?" asked Lucy.

Fantine didn't know if she wanted to share the whole story with these strange girls, but she didn't want to lie to such kind faces. "Well...one of the women at the factory read a letter that was intended for me," she began. Might as well skip the bastard daughter and the illiteracy, she thought. "It's a long story, but we got into a fight and M'sieur Madeleine, the owner, made the foreman deal with it. The foreman, well, he's a bit...er, see, he had been wanting me to...but I wouldn't..." she trailed off, embarrassed.

Noticing her blush, Nancy hazarded a guess.

"'E wanted to take you an' you wouldn't 'ave 'im? Is 'e an ugly one, then?"

"Er...yes, and yes," said Fantine, a little aghast.

"'Appens all the time wiv the pretty ones like us – take a look at their trousers, you'll see where they stand," Nancy said with a wink. To Lucy, she said, "Where's Aldonza? She should be 'ere wiv the key by now."

"I don't know, Nance. How should I know?"

"Cor, she's always late. Not as late as you can be, mind," grumbled Nancy. She noticed that Fantine was shivering. "'Ere, want my shawl?" Fantine tried to protest politely, but before she knew it the shawl was on her shoulders and she was a little less cold. Looking around at the women chatting, Fantine saw that although their appearances echoed the cold, hungry, desperation that she felt, they all seemed kind-hearted enough.

"Aldonza! Wot took you so long?"

A woman in a torn frock sauntered toward the group. Her hair was black and fell to her shoulders. She would have been beautiful if it weren't for the bruises and the dark expression on her face. She threw a meaningful glance at Nancy and unlocked the door. As the chattering crowd rushed in, Lucy took Fantine's hand and told her to follow closely. Fantine obeyed, and was led through a cobwebby corridor to a dimly lit room.

As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw an empty table surrounded by about twenty chairs. Fantine saw Nancy sit down in a beaten-up armchair, and she rushed to take a seat beside her on what she found to be a solid, if splintery wooden chair. Lucy took a seat to her left on a rickety-looking barstool. Fantine wanted to ask her something, but she had that far-off look in her eyes again, so she decided not to interrupt her reverie.

"– so oi said to 'im, oi said, 'No bloody –" Nancy was telling a story to Aldonza as Fantine gently poked her in the arm. "Oh, 'ey Fantine. Wot d'you want?"

"I was just wondering...where are we?"

"This is our place."

"What do you mean, our place?"

"It's where girls like us go after a long day on the job." This was said with a glance to Aldonza.

"Girls like us? What do you mean...what job? I have no job, as of this morning."

"Look. When you left the factory, what were you 'eaded to do? 'Ow were you going to earn a livin'?"

Fantine didn't like the direction of this conversation. It seemed that Nancy knew, or suspected, what she had been contemplating doing. If her hair wouldn't sell, she would just have to sell something else to earn ten francs to save her poor Cosette...

"'Oo's Cosette?" Damn it. Fantine had been thinking aloud. She sighed. She knew that she might as well tell them. They would get it out of her sooner or later.

"There's a child, and the child is my daughter. Her father abandoned us, leaving us flat. Now she lives with an innkeeper man and his wife, and I pay for her boarding with what I can make at the factory job. But now..."

"– you're thinking of joining the oldest profession and becoming a whore for the sake of your daughter? This girl 'as an 'eart of gold!" exclaimed Nancy to the others.

Fantine looked away from the shame of it. The other women in the room had all been listening, and they were now muttering and whispering – probably about what a horrible person she was, to have fallen so low...

"Poor Fantine! Don't worry, we'll take care you you!"

"Cares only about 'er daughter, not a thought fo' 'erself!"

"Way to go, girl, you're a regular saint!"

Fantine looked at them in shock. Were they applauding her for that which society had shunned her? This was a very strange place. Who would celebrate someone's willingness to become a – a prostitute? Unless...no...they couldn't be...

"'Course we're working girls." She had been thinking aloud again. Nancy noticed the bewildered look on Fantine's face. "That's why you're 'ere, ain't it? Didn't you read the sign?"

"I never learned how to read." A collective gasp from the group and more whispering lead Fantine to believe that she had missed something important on the sign.

"Do you think she thinks – no – what if she doesn't know about stock charact– ssh! Don't let 'er 'ear – should we tell her? - you sure she's one of us? - 'course oi am, did you see the look in 'er eyes when she spoke of the child – and the way she got here, just like the rest of us – the wind, the confusion, seeing the glowing sign – c'mon, let's tell 'er, she seems like a sweet girl..."

They turned toward Fantine, smiling.

"Welcome to Characteria," they chorused. "We're the Tarts With Hearts."

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! Leave a review, please – this is my first fic! :)**


	2. Getting Ready

**A/N: Hey everyone. Again, the story is dragging on a bit...so much prose, so little time! The pace will pick up as we meet the Rakes, the Fops, and the rest of the gang.  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: Fantine belongs to Hugo, Nancy and Bet belong to Dickens, etc, etc. Grisabella belongs to T. S. Eliot. The quotes I've sneakily snuck into the text belong to their respective writers. I don't own anything, okay?**

After a bowl of gruel and a mug of red wine (they had offered rum, too, but Fantine wanted something a little more French), Fantine declared that she was getting a little bit tired. Nancy sent Lucy to show her to the sleeping quarters. It was a dank room with about ten rickety bunk beds.

"You can have the one over there," said Lucy, pointing. Fantine sat down on her new bed with a sigh. There were springs sticking out of the mattress, but after having slept in the streets the night before, Fantine was glad to be in a job and in a bed – even if the job was a sketchy one to say the least.

"G'night," said Lucy. She left, humming a melancholy tune. What strange new friends Fantine was making! She was happy to have friends, though. She certainly hadn't had any at that rotten old factory...

When Fantine awoke, there was light coming in through the uncovered window. A few girls were lightly snoring in their beds. Quietly, Fantine got up and went into the other room. There, she found Nancy chatting to some sleepy-looking Tarts. She spotted Fantine, and gave her a cheery wave.

"'Ello, Fantine! 'Ow did you sleep?"

"Very well, thank you," she yawned. "What time is it?"

"Quarter past ten."

"That late? I'm normally up at five to go work."

"You didn't get to bed 'til two in the mornin', sweet'eart ," replied Nancy. "An' you were the first to go."

"Anyway, our line of work requires late shifts," said Aldonza.

"Sometimes _very_ late shifts," added Lucy. The dark circles under her eyes had grown, and had Fantine been more observant, she might have noticed that she was sporting more bruises than before. "We're girls of the night, we are."

A little blonde girl who couldn't have been older than sixteen entered, carrying a plate of sausages that the Tarts devoured hungrily. She whispered something to Nancy.

"Wot's that? Bet says tha' a Mr Hyde is at the door."

Lucy blanched. "He's never been 'round this early before. Tell him I'm at the market."

"It's Sunday," said Nancy. "The market ain't open this early."

"Well...well...tell him I'm at church, then."

"C'mon, Luce, after that song you sang 'bout evil bein' good? 'E'd laugh in me face," said Bet in a similar accent to Nancy's.

"Tell 'im she's screwing the bishop."

"Nancy!" Fantine was glad that she wasn't the only one who was shocked at the statement.

"Wot? We all know ol' Basingstoke's a regular at the cathouse," said Nancy nonchalantly.

"Fine, fine." Bet left the room.

"So, Fantine," said Nancy, "me an' the girls 'ave been talking, and we decided that you can share me shift t'night at the tavern. That way, oi can keep an eye on you and you can learn the noble art of barmaidery. Alright?"

Fantine smiled and nodded in relief. She was glad that they wouldn't be leaving her to serve alone. If any of the men at the tavern were like this Mr Hyde fellow, she wasn't sure she wanted to face them alone.

That evening, the Tarts got ready to go to the tavern. Bodices were loosened, rouge was applied, and stockings were rolled down. Fantine sat on the edge of her bed, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. Even if she had to become a prostitute to pay for Cosette's lodgings, she reasoned, she shouldn't have to wear such – such –

"Indecent clothes? You don't 'ave to be a prude, Fantine," said Nancy. Oh. She had been thinking aloud again. "I don't see 'ow you got yourself a bastard daughter if you won't even show a bit o' skin once in a while." Fantine's cheeks flamed. She hated thinking about that awful man, her lover who'd abandoned her. Sensing that she'd hit a nerve, Nancy apologized.

"Sorry, Fantine, oi didn't mean to – it's just that we aren't used to such – sorry. Oi guess it's just as well you don't want to dress like one of us. The Rakes'll be after your pretty new face anyhow."

"The Rakes? What are Rakes?"

"You 'aven't 'eard of Rakes?" Fantine shook her head. "Well, you know 'ow we girls 'ere are one type of stock character?"

"Tarts With Hearts?"

"Yeah. Well, there are other types of stock characters – the Princes Charming, the Fops, the Lovable Rogues, you know – well, the Rakes are one such type."

"And what are the Rakes like?"

"They're utter cads," said Lucy, trying to get her hair under control. "Debaucherous men. All they care for is wine, women, and song."

"Each one thinks he's the best of the lot, but they're all the same," added Aldonza.

"Big-'eaded rich boys," concluded Bet.

"They can be a source of good fun if you know when to say when, though," reasoned Nancy.

"Not that Nance does."

"Look 'oo's talking, Miss _Loose_-y!"

Lucy threw a pillow at Nancy, and a pillow fight ensued. Fantine smiled. Despite their oddities, these women were the best friends she'd ever known.

"C'mon, Luce! You don't want to be late again," belted Nancy from the street outside the window. It was twilight, and the Tarts were leaving for an evening at the tavern. Fantine, who had been cajoled into having her hair done by Bet, was wearing the shawl that Nancy had lent her the night before.

"I'll be right there. Go ahead without me!" Nancy rolled her eyes and signalled to the others to start walking.

As they trudged down the alley, Fantine noticed a cat following them. It was an old, shabby grey tabby. Looking at its eyes at it stopped beneath a lamppost, she noticed a surprising amount of wisdom in the cat's face. It was almost as if it was wistfully recalling a memory from the past...

Fantine pointed out the peculiar cat to Bet, who shrugged. "That old girl? She's jus' a cat wot follows us around sometimes. Somebody once called 'er Grisabella, an' the name stuck. She's an honorary Tart of sorts."

"Grisabella..._belle gris_...that means 'grey beauty', doesn't it?"

"Aye. Reckon she used to be a righ' lovely thing."

"Sort of like us Tarts?"

"Yeah."

Fantine was silent for the rest of the walk.

**Reviews, please! :) I'll have the next chapter written soon.**


	3. Romantic Heroes: So Worth The Heartache

**A/N: As I was writing this chapter, it became longer and longer and didn't get where I meant to be going (sort of like this sentence)...so I cut it into three different chapters. The bad news: this chapter is a bit short. The good news: the next two chapters are almost done, so the wait will not be long.**

**Disclaimer: Do I really need to go over it again? Let's just get the story started.**

"'Ere we 'are," proclaimed Nancy jollily. She lead the Tarts through the side door of a dodgy-looking pub. "Welcome to The Dingy Ol' Tavern."

The Tavern was a generic dirty pub. Needless to say, Fantine had never been to such a place. Her eyes were as wide as pretty French saucers as she apprehensively took in the sights – men in various states of inebriation playing poker, singing off-key, and deepening their states of inebriation. There were also women, some dressed like the Tarts, some dressed more decently, and some dressed far less decently. Fantine, for the umpteenth time in the past 24 hours, averted her eyes. A rather odd-looking parrot was doing a tap dance on one of the tables, much to the amusement of a group of Lovable Rogues, who clapped and cheered. The parrot then began playing a ditty on a pastoral flute. This all made Fantine feel somewhat dizzy, and she looked to Bet to sort out her confusion. Bet shrugged.

"Nancy!" a filthy girl in a tattered dress accosted from behind the bar.

"'Ponine – it's been ages! 'Ow 'ave you been?" she grabbed Fantine's hand and made her way toward the girl. "Oi'd like to introduce the newest addition to our li'l family 'ere – 'Ponine, this is Miss Fantine. Fantine, this is my dear friend Éponine. She's a Gamine."

Éponine waved to Fantine. She looked a little bit familiar, but with all the dirt on her face, Fantine couldn't quite put a finger on how she knew her. The only other Éponine she knew was but a child – the daughter of Thénardier, the innkeeper who lodged Cosette. Of course it wasn't the same person, Fantine reasoned. This Éponine was at least ten years older, and the Thénardier family was too well-off to produce a chit like this little Gamine.

Before Fantine knew it, Nancy was being summoned away by some Red-Noses, and she was left with Éponine until the official start of her shift. Éponine handed her a towel, and she began to dry some scummy dishes. After a few minutes, some of the modestly-dressed women appeared at the bar. They all had large eyes, and many of them wore their hair in ringlets. There was an impenetrable air of innocence to them as the chattered and tittered to each other which made Fantine somewhat jealous.

"I'll have champagne," one of the girls informed Éponine in a bell-like voice.

"Coming right up, Christine."

"So will the rest of us, thank you," said a lovely brunette. "By the way, Éponine, have you seen Marius anywhere? I've been looking all over for him."

"He's over with the rest of the students," replied Éponine stiffly. She gestured toward a table of attractive young men. By the looks of them, they were all Romantic Heroes. An incredibly handsome man with brown curls was grinning at one who was exclaiming passionately in French with his fists in the air. Yet another, a man who looked more like a Red-Nose than a Hero, was refilling everyone's drinks with a bottle of wine. The pretty girls, spotting them, giggled and tittered and made a beeline for their table. A mysterious man in a mask leered at them as they passed, and a hunchback standing next to him gazed at them longingly. They went unnoticed by the girls, who only had eyes for the students.

Once they were out of earshot, Fantine turned to Éponine. "Who were they?" she asked.

"Ingénues," muttered Éponine. "Pretty, pure, and perfect. They're very sweet, but their single-dimensional selves can become pretty irritating after a while."

"Oh," Fantine reflected for a moment. "I think I was one of them, once."

"Where did you go wrong?" asked Éponine dryly.

Fantine knew where she had gone wrong. Her mistake had been believing that Tholomyès would stay with her when autumn came...but the summer, oh, the wonderful summer he'd slept by her side. Wasn't it worth the heartache in the end?

"Rakes are never worth the heartache, sister," replied Éponine. Had Fantine been thinking aloud yet again? No wonder the woman at the factory had discovered her secret so easily. She would have to keep an eye on her mouth. "Romantic Heroes, on the other hand, absolutely are. Believe me, I know about heartache – I'm in love with a Hero, see."

"Who?"

"Marius." she pointed toward the handsome, brown-haired student. "My best friend, my first love. It was one of my other best friends, an Ingénue, who snagged him from me. It was my fault, I guess, for introducing them – but how was I to know that Marius would fall for Co–"

"'Ponine, 'Ponine!" a voice called from the back room.

"That'll be my little brother, Gav. Can you tend the bar alone 'til Nancy comes back?" Fantine nodded. "Thanks." Éponine disappeared, and Fantine was left to face her inner monologue on her own.

**Sneak peek to the next chapter – Dr Jekyll will be making an appearance. Who doesn't love Dr Jekyll? I mean, he's so much sweeter than Mr Hyde.**

**Review, please!**


	4. Men Of Science

**A/N: Dr Dillamond belongs to Wicked, Dr Jekyll is rather self-explanatory. Valjean and Javert (whose names I put together for obvious reasons) belong to Les Mis, as does the creeper guy, Bamatabois. The lines exchanged between Bamatabois and Fantine are OBVIOUSLY taken from the musical. No copyright infringement intended. **

**High five if you get the South Pacific and Chicago references. :)**

Lost in thought, Fantine was startled back to reality when she noticed a rather strange person standing before her. His suit and tie were average enough, if a bit tatty, but his face – why, if Fantine wasn't mistaken, she was staring into the face of a goat!

"Please do stop gawking, it's rather rude. I'll have a Bloody Mary." ("Bali Haaaaai..." sang a crazy old Polynesian lady from across the room.) With difficulty, Fantine removed the astonished expression from her face, and began to assemble his drink. As she was doing so, a man in a suit walked up and greeted the Goat.

"Dr Dillamond!"

"Dr Jekyll!"

"How have you been?"

"Fine, thank you, and yourself?"

"A little bit under the weather – you know how experiments can be."

_He must be a Mad Scientist, thought Fantine. And that one, the strangely goatish man – I bet he's an Absent-Minded Professor! I've never met one of those before._ She strained to overhear their conversation.

"Ah, yes. Would that be the one you were explaining to me the other day? The multiple personali– "

"Yes, yes," said Dr Jekyll in a low voice. "Pray speak a little more quietly. Some find my work to be a little bit – shall we say – unnerving."

"Of course, my good fellow. I understand completely."

"So, Dillamond, tell me – how has _your_ work been going lately? Any recent studies?

"Actually," said Dr Dillamond, "I've just begun a new research project. I want to figure exactly out how we citizens of Characteria-upon-Stocking come to be here. They all seem to have wandered out of their own worlds and into this one, and they always have happened to turn up right where similar Characters live. Nobody I've queried knows anyone who was born in Characteria. Women who wander in pregnant always seem to find that, by the time the City Council releases a Plot Advancement Notice about their story, they're mysteriously no longer carrying a child. Sooner than later, though, a new Character will appear, someone who bears a striking resemblance to the woman. The Character will sometimes even recognize her as their mother, even though they may now be the same age as her, even older."

"That's rather peculiar."

"You haven't even heard the half of it. I've also discovered a terrible and wonderful secret about Characters." He leaned in, whispering so quietly that Fantine could barely hear him. "_We're immortal_." Fantine gasped. Luckily, Jekyll did, too, so Dr Dillamond didn't notice that she had been listening.

"How can that be? Characters die all the time. Why, just last week, the dear old badass Jean Valjean passed away -"

"Ah, but have you visited the prison recently?"

Dr Jekyll muttered something under his breath that sounded strangely like "_Well maybe, but it was only to creep on the murderesses._"

"Pardon me?"

"Never mind. No, I haven't."

"Anyway, if you had been to the men's section of the prison instead of checking out the long-legged ladies -"

Dr Jekyll blushed. That Goat had keen hearing.

"- you may have noticed that there's a new prisoner, a man called only by the name of 24601."

Dr Jekyll raised an eyebrow. "24601? That was Valjean's health card number."

"And his banking PIN, and the number that prison guard, Javert, always mutters in his sleep."

"That boy was smitten. Didn't he realize he was far too young for Valjean?"

"It was a time lapse thing. The Valjean he had known was some thirty years younger. Poor kid." The Goat shook his head. "But that brings me back to my point. This 24601 man bears an eerie resemblance to the Jean Valjean we knew – the superhuman strength, the kindheartedness, the baritone voice. He turned up in the same circumstances that Jean Valjean had mentioned of his past. "

"WHEN THEY CHAINED ME AND LEFT ME FOR DEAD – JUST FOR STEALING A MOUTHFUL OF BREAD!" sang Jekyll in a dead-on Colm Wilkinson impression.

"Precisely. If my evidence proves correct, I will probably be able to get this poor man out of prison."

"Have fun convincing Judge Turpin of that one."

Imagine, though – we can reshape history for the future incarnations of our friends!"

Fantine wasn't really following the conversation anymore – partially because she didn't understand many of the words they were saying, but mostly because someone else was slithering his way over to her. This man dress like a Fop, but the lascivious expression on his face was distinctively Rake-like.

"Here's something new – I think I'll give it a try."

Fantine shuddered. Who was the creepy person?

He pointed at her. "Come closer, you – I like to see what I buy."

Fantine was aghast.

"The usual prrrrrice for just one slice of your pie..." The man grabbed her by the arm.

"I don't want you! Non, non, monsieur, let me go!" There was no way that Fantine was going to let this slimeball near her. She sprang back, escaping his grasp.

"Is this a trick?" the man was suspicious. "I won't pay more!"

"No, not at all!"

"You've got some nerve, you little whore, you've got some gall!"

This was getting out of hand.

**Oh no! Who will save Fantine from this creeper dude? Tune in next time to find out...and in the meantime, a review or two would be nice. ;)**


	5. Saved By The Dodger

**A/N: Eep, I sort of abandoned the story! Well, here's another chapter I had written for it, and I'm working on another one which will be coming soon. Sorry about that.**

**Disclaimers: I don't own _Les Misérables_, nor do I own _Jekyll & Hyde_, _Oliver!_, _The Music Man_, _Sweeney Todd_, or anything else. **

"'EY YOU. STOP RIGH' THERE." A young fellow in a scruffy coat and a top hat was pointing at the miscreant. "Yeah, you, Mister Bamatabois. 'Oo d'you think you are, treatin' a lady loike that?"

Bamatabois, turned to the youth with an expression of disdain on his face. "My business with this guttersnipe is strictly between the two of us. Good day to you."

"Anyone wiv workin' eyes can see that she ain't interested. Be a decent gen'leman an' leave 'er alone." He cocked an eyebrow threateningly.

"Try to make me, why don't you?" Bamatabois was a good head taller than the stripling, and his hands were clenched in fists now. Fantine winced inwardly at the thought of this well-meaning boy being beaten to a pulp on her behalf.

Not giving up so easily, the lad looked up at him, a peculiar expression upon his face. "Oi 'ave friends wot know a certain Mister Sikes quite well and wot might drop a word 'bout you next time 'e's 'round 'ere. Oi 'ave the impression that you, sir, prob'ly 'ave a few valu'bles wot 'e might take a liking to should oi mention you to 'im. So, if you value your possessions – an' your life, fo' that matter – you may want to reconsider your actions against this fine lady 'ere."

This was said in a lighthearted, matter-of-fact tone, but it seemed to have a great effect on Bamatabois, who blanched and began to back away from Fantine.

"Mr – Mr Sikes?" he whispered, his voice quivering. He turned to Fantine. "Well, it was nice getting to know you. I'll just be on my way, then..." the man turned and darted away faster than what Fantine had previously thought humanly possible. Well, at least he was gone now. Fantine sighed in relief.

"So...er, wot's your name, then, miss?" asked the odd young gentleman.

"I am Fantine."

"Oi'm Jack Dawkins, better known among me more intimate friends as the Artful Dodger."

"Well, thank you for releasing me from that man's unwanted affection, Mr Dawkins."

"Dodger. You can call me Dodger."

"You said that that name was used by your intimate friends. I am hardly your inimate friend, Mr Dawkins, as we only met a moment ago."

"That can change," said the Artful Dodger, with a strange sort of expression on his face.

"Oi, Dodge! Stop flirtin' wiv the new gal, will ya?" Nancy was back. Dodger grinned when he saw her and stuck out his tongue in response to her comment. For someone who was dressed in the clothing of a grown man and had a hint of stubble on his face, this Artful Dodger seemed to behave rather childishly.

"The way you're going about chatting up Miss Fantine, I'd say you're destined to become a Rakehell one of these days," said Lucy.

"Oi most certainly will not!" said the Dodger indignantly. "Rakes are brutes. Oi'm a regular gent, oi am."

"Well, don't go makin' yourself into a Fop, Dodge," teased Bet. "You'll end up like Raoul, and where'll that getcha?"

"Nowhere wiv the ladies, that's for sure," laughed Nancy.

"Oi'm not gonna be no such thing. Oi'll be a righ' Rogue, and a Lovable Rogue at that," the Dodger exclaimed proudly."Like – like Robin 'ood 'imself, 'cept oi'll keep the loot for me, 'stead o' givin' everything to the poor."

The other Tarts all sniggered. Fantine, being illiterate, didn't know what they were laughing about, but suspected that there was something unusual about the Dodger's taste in books.

"Wot? Oi'll 'ave you know that Robin 'ood is a bloody good book!" Dodger was flushing red now.

"You spend far too much time at the library, Dodge. Is it Marian the Librarian you're after? Forget about her. She'll never give you the time of day, 'specially not if you keep reading such babyish books." Lucy's tone was one of gentle teasing, but her words seemed to get under Dodger's skin.

"You're wot, eighteen, nineteen now? It's time you stopped being such a sissy book-reader and started doing something useful. No Pick-Pocket needs to know 'ow to read, an' if ya get promoted to a Master Criminal or Antihero, ya won't need it then neither."

The Dodger glared at Bet. "Wot's this, gang up on Dodger day? Oi reckon oi've 'ad enough of you lot." He turned and stormed off as the Tarts snickered. All except Fantine. She felt sorry for him. They needn't have teased him so mercilessly. Someone should probably go after him...

"Oh, don't you be such a goody two-shoes," said Bet. Fantine must have been thinking aloud yet again. "We always make fun of Dodge, and 'e never takes it too seriously. 'E's probably just 'aving a bad day an' needed an excuse to sulk."

"Maybe Javert caught him picking a pocket," pondered Lucy.

"Or maybe Mrs Lovett sold 'im a disgusting pie again," suggested Bet.

"Oi did tell 'im off fo' starin' at me chest earlier," chortled Nancy. "Not that that's anything out of the ordinary." Bet rolled her eyes and Lucy giggled.

"Well, I think you all were a bit too harsh," said Fantine. The others looked at her quizzically, because she didn't normally express her opinion or chastise people for their behaviour. Fantine herself didn't know why she suddenly felt so strongly. It wasn't as if she knew Dodger well – she had only just met him moments ago. Nevertheless, she felt a funny sort of fondness for the strange lad who had helped her to escape from the slimy hands of Bamatabois. He had a comical air and a charming smile, and she hated to think of him being angry with them.

"I'm going to go find this Artful Dodger and apologized on everyone's behalf," she decided, and before anyone could stop her, Fantine marched off in the direction he had gone.

**Oooh, do I sense a bit of Dodger/Fantine? We shall see. **


End file.
